My Sister Jodie (28 page)

Jodie flapped the shawl at him contemptuously, bullfighter fashion.

Harley shone the torch in her face.

‘Don't, you're blinding me!' she snapped.

‘What's that on your arms?' said Harley.

‘Oh, ha ha.'

‘No, look – it's all on your shoulders too. I'm not kidding.'

Jodie peered. ‘Yuck! What is it?'

It looked as if she was wearing grey lace. It patterned her bare arms and her T-shirt. She rubbed it tentatively and it smeared.

‘It's just dust from that stupid old shawl,' she said, shaking it vigorously.

‘Just dust?' said Harley. He lowered his voice. ‘Maybe it's the Curse of the Tower Room manifesting itself. You're going grey all over, and soon you'll start withering—'

‘Don't, Harley!' I said.

‘He doesn't frighten
me
,' said Jodie, but she dropped the shawl on the Persian rug. She gave it a little kick and then marched over to the window.

‘Look! Just look at the view: you can see for miles,' she said, pressing against the latticed glass. ‘I can see all the way over the hills to Galford.'

‘No you can't,' said Harley. ‘It's in the other direction and it's too dark to see anything properly.'

‘I'm like a cat, I can see in the dark,' said Jodie. She bent her head. ‘I can see right down down down all the way to the ground – and whoops, I spy with my super-sharp feline eye a little mouse peering up at me, his nose twitching anxiously.'

‘Don't lean on the glass like that, Jodie. It's so old it might easily fall out and then
you
'll go down down down and squash your harvest mouse flat,' said Harley.

‘You're such a worry-wuss,' said Jodie. ‘Look at the tops of the trees! You could kid yourself you could step from one to the other, all the way to the hills. I've always wanted to be able to fly. Remember my rocket, Pearl? I wanted Dad to make me a rocket to whiz me up to the moon, Harley. Maybe I don't
need
a rocket. Maybe I could just launch myself, one giant leap, and then I'd ride on the wind.'

She raised her arms as if she was going to step
straight out of the window. I snatched a handful of her T-shirt, pulling her back.

‘It's OK, Pearl! I'm only kidding!' she said, but I still clung to her.

I didn't let go of her until we were safely back down the spiral stairs and out of the tower altogether.

THE PUPILS STARTED
arriving on Saturday. Melchester was a small school and only half the pupils were boarders but it still felt as if we were besieged by a vast foreign army. We'd got so used to having the run of the place but now we were horribly restricted. There were lots of new teachers and a proper matron, a large woman who wore such efficient corsets she seemed as firmly plump as a sofa. She was firm in manner too, telling us what to do in a very no-nonsense voice. She didn't cajole the little ones ineffectually, like Undie. She threatened them with a ‘good spanking with my hairbrush' and we weren't entirely sure she was joking.

Even the cleaning ladies from the village ordered us around. There were two, a middle-aged woman, Mrs Colgate, and her eighteen-year-old daughter, Tiffany. They were both blonde and plump, but unlike Matron they let it all hang loose. Mrs Colgate wore low-slung jeans, her fat tummy
swelling over the waistband. Her protruding navel was clearly visible through her T-shirt. I couldn't look at it because it made me feel queasy. Tiffany wore tiny denim skirts that showed her knickers when she bent over. She had a blue butterfly tattoo on her big white thigh.

When they came to work the day before term started, Mum made them a pot of tea and everyone seemed friendly at first, but when Mum started telling them exactly how she wanted her kitchen cleaned in the future, Mrs Colgate took offence.

‘Are you insinuating it was dirty when you came here?' she said.

‘I'm not insinuating anything, I'm stating a plain fact. It was downright filthy. I've scrubbed it up to standard now, and I want you to keep it spotless. I prepare my food here. This is a health and safety issue,' said Mum.

Mrs Colgate blew a very rude raspberry. ‘The kitchen's your territory, Mrs Wells.
You
blooming well keep it scrubbed. Tiff and I have got the whole school to get round. I've been cleaning here for the last ten years and no one's found fault yet. Just who do you think you are?' she said, folding her arms belligerently.

‘I'm the catering manager,' Mum said in her poshest voice. She stuck her chin in the air. ‘And that means I'm senior to a cleaner, so stick that in your gob, you dirty mare,' she added, in quite a different tone.

Mum would have been
outraged
if Jodie or I had said that. It was a moment of triumph for Mum, but it meant that Mrs Colgate and Tiffany were our deadly enemies now.

They caught Jodie and me trying to slip up the stairs to the attics.

‘Where do you think you girls are going? Those stairs are out of bounds,' said Mrs Colgate.

‘They're not out of bounds to us. We live here,' said Jodie.

‘This isn't part of your flat, missy. You've no right to be here. Now scoot back to where you belong,' said Mrs Colgate.

‘You can't make us,' said Jodie.

‘Give me any more of that lip and I'll report you to Mr Wilberforce,' Mrs Colgate threatened.

‘See if we care. He's our
friend
,' said Jodie – but she backed down all the same.

We weren't quite so sure he was our friend now. We were used to seeing him in his gardening clothes – his old checked shirts and baggy corduroy trousers and funny floppy sunhat – but now term had started he wore striped shirts and a blazer and grey flannels, striding around in a lordly fashion in highly polished shoes. Some of the teachers didn't even call him Mr Wilberforce. They called him ‘Headmaster' in deferential tones, as if it meant
Your Majesty
. Mr Wilberforce still nodded kindly when he saw us and he always gave Jodie a special wink – but we didn't want to try our luck.

Miss French was different too, nowhere near as jolly, dashing around with a clipboard, her reading glasses stuck in her hair like an Alice band. She didn't have so much time for Jodie now. There were a whole
troop
of children eager to take Old Shep for a walk. Miss French chose Jodie if she got there first, but she often wasn't quick enough and some other child had run off with him. Old Shep lapped
up the attention, barking joyously at everyone, especially if they fed him treats.

‘He's a silly old mutt,' said Jodie. ‘I'd got him so well trained. He was even starting to do tricks for me, turning round and lying down, playing Dead Doggie, but now he's got distracted. He'll go off with anyone if they give him crisps or biscuits. It's mad to feed him rubbish like that. He'll blow up like a balloon. I keep
telling
Frenchie, but she won't listen.'

Jodie still spent time with Jed whenever she could, though lots of the older girls vied for his attention too.

‘They are so pathetic, that Anna and Sophia and Rebecca,' said Jodie fiercely. ‘They just hang around Jed, getting in the way, batting their eyelashes at him, going giggle giggle giggle.
Oh, Jed
, they chorus, over and over. Anna calls him “The Jedi''. Honestly. She doesn't seem to get it that he's not the slightest bit interested in her.'

I listened anxiously. Jodie didn't seem to get it that Jed wasn't the slightest bit interested in her either. The only girl I'd seen him staring at was horrible Tiffany Colgate.

Jodie wasn't interested in any of the boys in her new class, as Mrs Wilberforce had hoped.

‘They're awful!' she said, after that first day of school. ‘Childish, ugly, nerdy, snotty, pathetic and
stupid
too. Thick thick thick.'

‘Harley's in your class. He's not any of those things,' I said.

‘Childish, ugly, nerdy, snotty, pathetic,' said Jodie, counting on her fingers. ‘But he's not thick, I'll grant you that. The other boys really are
though, truly. That's why they're still here. They're supposed to be getting special tuition to pass this Common Entrance thingy so they can go to a
really
posh school, but some of them can barely read and write. They've got all these weird fancy names for their so-called conditions, but they're basically thick.'

‘What about the girls?'

‘They're idiots too,' said Jodie. ‘They're hopeless. It's awful that they're all so much younger than me. They think they're dead sophisticated but they're incredibly babyish. And their
voices
! They're just so
fwightfully
silly, squeal squeal squeal squeal. God, it's totally doing my head in and I've only had their company for one
day
. I'm not going to survive a week!'

She threw herself on the bed in mock despair. We were both in school uniform now – grey skirts and white blouses. Jodie had done her best to customize hers, shortening her skirt and rolling up her shirt sleeves, with her grey and red striped tie casually knotted on her chest. She couldn't do anything about her school shoes though, terrible conker-brown flat lace-ups. Jodie waved her thin legs in the air, making her shoes do comical Charlie Chaplin sideways steps.

‘This is all such rubbish,' she said, sighing. ‘I wish we'd never come here. I'd give anything to be seeing all my mates again. Marie and Siobhan and Shanice.'

She'd conveniently forgotten that they'd all broken friends with her. I flopped down on the bed beside her, peering at her anxiously.

‘Don't look so worried, Pearly. We've still got each
other, eh,' said Jodie. ‘Who needs any of these posh-nob creeps?'

I kept quiet.

‘All right, Harley's not
too
bad. He can be fun at times, when he's not showing off. And the little kids are quite sweet, especially funny old Dan. But all these others are enough to drive you insane.' She gently pulled one of my plaits. ‘Was it awful for you too, Pearly?'

‘Mmm,' I said into her pillow.

‘So your little lot are as bad as mine?'

‘Mmm,' I repeated.

I was lying. I didn't dare tell Jodie but I'd had such a wonderful day. I'd been so scared when I had to go to the Year Seven classroom after breakfast. I was sure they'd all hate me. I just didn't have the knack of making friends. I wouldn't be able to think of a thing to say. Maybe it would be better to keep quiet. Everyone always sniggered or groaned when I answered a question in class at my old school. They called me the Snottyswot, the Nerdybrain, the Poncy Teacher's Pet. I was used to being pinched or pushed in class and in the corridors, though when Jodie was still in the Juniors, no one dared touch me in the playground because she'd knock them flying.

I got to the classroom early, hoping to grab a seat right in the front, the safest place. Harley was lounging by the door, looming way above everyone else. I hadn't had a chance to talk to him at breakfast. I'd been in such a state I hadn't been able to stomach the smell of Mum's vast vats of baked beans. I'd nibbled a slice of dry toast alone in our own kitchenette.

‘Hi, Pearl,' said Harley, trying to sound nonchalant, though it was difficult with everyone staring at us. ‘I just wanted to make sure you were OK. Jodie said you didn't feel well.'

I swallowed. ‘I'm fine,' I mumbled.

‘Good. Well, see you around after school?'

‘Yes!'

‘I'll come and find you. Hope it goes well today. See you.' He waved his long fingers at me and sloped off down the corridor towards the senior classrooms.

‘How do you know
Harley
?' said the girl standing next to me.

She had very short plaits with lots of wisps, and freckles all over her snub nose. She was only a little bit taller than me and she had a very friendly gap-toothed grin. She really didn't seem at all scary.

‘Harley's my friend,' I said proudly.

‘But he's in Year Eight,' she said.

‘I know.'

‘So do you know Harley outside school then?'

‘Well. He was here during the summer. And I was too,' I said.

All the other girls were crowding round, listening. There was one girl who was crying, her eyelids very red and puffy. She clutched a sodden hankie and mopped at her runny nose ineffectually.

‘What's the matter?' I said.

She just sniffed, knuckling her eyes.

‘That's just Freya. She always cries, every single term. She'll get over it,' said a very pretty fair girl with a posh, precise voice. She put her arm round Freya's shaking shoulders. ‘Come on, Freya, don't
drip all over the new girl. What's your name?' she asked me.

‘Pearl.'